


Research Break

by Solshine



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (if you want it to be), Cooking, FItzskymmons, Friendship, Gen, Pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solshine/pseuds/Solshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three dorks and some soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Research Break

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the AoS holiday exchange. :) I've had food and cooking headcanons for these nerdbabies gnawing on my brain for so long this little piece of ridiculousness was really inevitable.

The slam open of the lab door interrupted a careful adjustment of Simmons’s microscope and a careful solder on Fitz’s circuit, and an unrepentant Skye blithely dodged the daggers the two scientists glared at her. She sauntered across the room and plopped down on the only part of the lab table not covered in projects and papers as they both tried to resume their delicate work.

“Hey nerds,” Skye said. “How’s the science?”

“Silent and scholarly and important,” said Simmons, referencing her notes again for the microscope setting she needed. “Ideally.”

“Silent scholarly science?” Skye repeated, frowning disapprovingly. “The Mythbusters would be very disappointed in you both.”

“The Mythbusters are free at any time to attempt fixing this complex electronic equipment with duct tape and explosions,” Fitz muttered, sticking his tongue out between his teeth as he peered closely at his work. After a moment, though, he set it down and rubbed his eyes. “I imagine it would be very cathartic, actually.”

“Explosions are always therapeutic,” Skye agreed. “Hey, speaking of setting all this down and taking a break, as I noticed nobody was, have you guys eaten at all today?”

Fitz screwed up his face in thought. “I had some… gum, earlier.”

“Of course I’ve eaten,” said Simmons as she pulled out one of the pens she had tucked behind each ear and made a notation on apparently the first piece of paper she laid her hand on. “I always keep some fruit snacks in my lab coat pocket for when I can’t get away from something.”

“So no, then,” said Skye, rolling her eyes. “Okay dorklords, man cannot live on science and fruit snacks alone. What do you want in your omelets?”

“Ooh, cheese and mushrooms please!” said Simmons, glancing up briefly from her work.

“I don’t really like omelets,” Fitz said, picking up a different pointy, precise-looking mystery tool whose purpose eluded Skye and returning to his work. “Thank you though.”

“Look, I lived in a van. I can make omelets, and I can make burritos. These are your options.”

“Burritos and me don’t really—”

“Burritos and omelets, Fitz!” Skye shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “Okay? Simmons gets cheese and mushrooms in her omelet, if I can find mushrooms. But you get a terrifying omelet-rito hybrid for disrespecting.”

“I think that’s called a breakfast burrito,” Fitz offered helpfully.

Skye hopped down from the table and pointed a warning finger at Fitz. “Terrifying omelet-rito hybrid, or you can cook for yourself.”

“I’m terrible at cooking,” Fitz said, sorting through a tiny cluster of colored wires inside his broken piece of equipment. “Too subjective and intuitive. Gemma’s brilliant at it, though.”

“Chemistry is not ‘subjective’ or ‘intuitive,’ Fitz,” Simmons countered, sparing a moment from scribbling to pin him with a judgemental look. “It’s very simple and precise.”

“Whoa, wait,” said Skye, slapping her hands down on the table. “Simmons, you can cook?”

“She could have some sort of show,” Fitz said. “One for people who like big words and knowing about what the enzymes in their layer cakes are doing.”

That was enough to make Simmons put her pen down. “Enzymes? Really? What practical application would knowledge of enzymes have to layer cakes? I mean, they appear in some commercial cakes to extend the shelf life, but I assume you mean homemade—“

Skye interrupted by grabbing Simmons’s arm and pulling her away from the lab table. “Come on, Julia Child,” she said. “Plans have changed. You’re making us all lunch.”

 

“There really isn’t much in here,” Simmons said, inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. “I mean, there’s a lot of leftovers, and some condiments—”

“One time at the Academy she made soup out of a beer, a bag of peanuts, some ramen, sriracha, and a packet of chip dip mix,” Fitz whispered conspiratorially to Skye, who was seated crosslegged on the counter. 

“Was it any good?” Skye asked, fascinated.

“Of course it was,” said Fitz. “It was delicious. She can cook practically anything, but soup is her superpower. She can make soup out of anything, I don’t understand it.”

“Soup-erpower,” Skye giggled.

“Well,” said Simmons doubtfully, her head still in the refrigerator, “Do we know who this Chinese belongs to?”

“It’s Trip’s or something, I don’t know, he won’t mind,” said Skye, then snapped her fingers. “Ooh! Ooh, Coulson has some veggies in the crisper. Like, some carrots I think. He eats them at his desk.”

“Should we be taking his desk carrots?” Fitz frowned.

“They’re carrots,” said Skye. “They’re not exactly irreplaceable. We’ll get him some more.”

Simmons turned around with the carrots and the styrofoam container of Chinese takeout. “Does anyone have any ramen? Just for the flavor packets, I assume asking if you have bullion or soup stock is pointless.”

“I might have a couple,” said Fitz, going to dig in the cupboard.

“And Skye, you said you were going to make omelets, but I didn’t see any eggs?”

“Oh, I keep them in the mini fridge by my bed,” Skye said, unfolding her legs and climbing off the counter. “If you keep anything in this fridge it totally gets stolen. Hold on.”

When Skye returned Simmons had started a large pot of water heating on the stove, and was tearing open the fourth tiny foil packet and dumping it out into the water, while Fitz had been engaged cutting up carrots.

“Skye, just… pick the chicken out of the takeout,” Simmons instructed. “And put the sliced carrots in when they’re done. I’ll be right back.”

“Her secret stash,” said Fitz, pushing a small pile of sliced carrots to the side of the cutting board.

The herbs Simmons in little jars made that Simmons retrieved from her own room went a long way toward making the pot smell less like ramen and more like actual soup, and Skye and Fitz watched enthralled as Simmons worked.

“Okay, after this I’m going to be too intimidated to offer you omelets,” Skye commented while Simmons dished up soup for the three of them. “I bet you have mad omelet skills.”

Simmons sat down at her bowl and picked up her spoon with a grin. “Well, I’m sure your burritos are formidable.”

“You should see what she can do with actual ingredients bought on purpose. She’s terrible at getting shopping done, though. Worse than me.”

“Dude,” said Skye, ppointig with her spoon. “I’m terrible at grocery shopping but I will absolutely go shopping for you if you keep cooking.”

“Make the chicken pot pie,” Fitz interjected with what Skye had a feeling was a very reasonable tone of urgency. 

Simmons laughed. “I should. I haven’t made it in a while.”

“Give me an ingredient listh and I’ll get the stuff,” said Skye, and smacked the table with her open hand. “The contract is struck!”

In their eating and talking, none of them noticed Coulson coming in until he passed in front of them on the way to the refrigerator. Their chatter quieted quickly. The three watched, soup spoons frozen (and Fitz in mid-chew) as Coulson opened the fridge, and looked in the crisper. There was a pause. He shut the crisper, shut the freezer, then took a bowl out of the cabinet and ladled himself up some soup. Then he left without another word. Skye, Fitz and Simmons silently watched him leave.

The door shut.

“Thanks for the carrots,” Skye yelled.


End file.
